


Flip

by Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: As In The Ramsay Bolton Special Kind Of Way, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Doggy Style, Double Penetration, Emasculation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Coping Mechanisms, Good Thing You Can Heal, Implied/Referenced Necrophilia, Implied/Referenced One-Sided Incestuous Tendencies, Implied/Referenced Voyeurism, Infected Characters, Monster Transformation, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Rough Sex, Sibling Rivalry Except It's Basically An Extreme Sport, Teratophilia, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/pseuds/Coffin%20Liqueur
Summary: Two hormonal twenty-something-year-old siblings have found... unusual ways to blow off steam during their indefinite house arrest, and also to ruin each others' days.
Relationships: Lucas Baker/Molded, Zoe Baker/Molded
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	1. Side One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).



Zoe didn’t know what she was doing this for.

That was a lie.

Ironically, she was doing it to dull her mind. Technically, she was succeeding, insofar as she was wrapping other thoughts in a thick, thick blanket of humidity and burning nerves from a  _ melange _ of kinds of stimulation. It smothered those thoughts, but didn’t kill them - particularly not now that every part of her was, disgustingly, far too used to this.

The first time, she had absolutely been able to ask herself what she was doing when she’d held still.

When she’d been stalking the basement, moving slow ‘case Daddy’d come in to get to work on a body, looking for strategic places to place medicines for the woman who she’d hoped had managed to sneak out of Mama’s room that night.

Too focused on just one thing that could’ve been on the prowl to listen to the sounds of wet quadrupedal footsteps behind her in the boiler room, till a heavy metallic  _ CLANG  _ had forced her to turn around too late, a leap in her chest.

Not in time to move, but in time to be facin’ the crawler that had rebounded off of a panel when it’d collided with her, knocked her on flat on her back, and she’d let out a jerking wincing gritted yelp on her bones hittin’ hard floor through her skin but then on had come a rush of perplexed not-quite-wonder in a cold wind when she hadn’t felt teeth in her neck or nails tearing between her ribs and --

She’d held still.

She _had asked herself why she’d held still._ _Of course_ she had. She’d have had nothing to lose by struggling, but no, she’d _watched_ the damn thing. Asking herself _what she’d been doing_ , but also astonishedly curious, eyes agape, when it’d looked like it’d been watching her, too - its head looming over hers and cocking with a single half-insectile and half-bone-cracking snap that had caused a faint rippling feeling in her stomach that had cleared out to the verge of a thought that... 

...maybe it’d been one o’ the ones that’d had a human body in it, instead of being a golem of mold. Zoe knew there were a range of kinds - once Evie made from the ground-up, ones that had  _ organically rotted _ , ones with a bit from Column A and a bit from Column B.

Maybe it’d still felt kinda human, she’d thought. Maybe it’d been askin’ itself what it’d been doing, too; maybe it’d been thinking of just letting her go.

Possible she’d technically been right about all of the above, in retrospect, if you wanted to get technical.

And still, when it had inspected her from somethin’ inside its pits of eyes and she’d felt a suspecting oil-black dread creeping up her back; and that dread had caught fire peaking in a mortified yelp as it had swept her legs apart to frame its, clawed feet pinning them open by fixing right under her thighs; and its ineffectual growling and gurgling grinding against her had cut off with it coming away - her staring with her nerves filled with piercing electricity as it had popped the fly of her jeans with the hook of a claw - she had asked herself, onward,  _ what are you doing. _

Why she hadn’t been struggling. Why she hadn’t been making more noise. Why she had, in fact, just been  _ watching. _

Maybe it’d been morbid curiosity. Simple inability to believe that it’d been happening at all. Wondering if it’d all been some kind of bizarre fucking mistake of her interpretation that things’d been escalating in that direction at all, up until the thing’d gotten her bared from hips to the middle of her thighs and the grinding had resumed and the sludge of the things hips had started to take the shape of her, fill her out until she could feel herself adhering to it back more and more, back steadily arcing and eyes and mouth rounding to the black-and-red ceiling with a horrified, thrilling realization that’d meant she hadn’t  _ needed  _ to watch anymore to understand a thing.

_ Oh. _

...Maybe it’d been suspecting the silver lining in advance.

That at least at that point of no return, if it’d come, she’d be able to pretend it was someone else, and that, likewise, she was somewhere else. For the first damn time in too long.

Desensitized as she was to that, now, there was still a little seed of that appeal in it. The barest minimum distraction.

Now, with her clutched by one of the things beside the trailer, its slimy body pressed to her back and her fists clutching and kneading balls of thick mud like clay and bony chest pressed to the grass - shirt rolled up to invite any damn additional feeling, even if it was the sloppy wet and cold - the front of its hips now long since having molded into not one but two shapes coherent enough to stuff inside her. Over. And over. And over.

The moist  _ slap  _ of its pliable body striking her ass again and again.

Her eyes glazed - passively hearing its curdling snarls just beside her hear. The faintest winces and shudders at the feeling of the… overall weight of it bearing down on her, pressing against her, dragging and pushing inside her, every one of its bucks rocking her deeper and deeper into the mud, gradually.

She said she didn’t know what she was doing this for, in the same resigned way you do when you’re halfway through another bottle after having told yourself you would cut back, knowing that simultaneously you’re doing it because you had a shit day, and decided… fuck it.

And likewise, hell…

...She told herself that at least this was better than whatever corpse-fucking Lucas had to be up to these days in the barn, given his own lack of damns, and then instantly hated herself for giving herself that mental image. She grimaced, shut her eyes, flattened herself harder into the mud and raised her backside up higher for the monster. Against it.

Focused on the stretch and drag and fullness of it inside her until she could open her eyes again. Once more glazed. Not damn well caring.

...It shifted its hold on her, a little. She flinched at the drag of its hind claws around her outer thigh as its leg adjusted its bracing around hers; the distinct flare of it nicking skin. A front claw pressed down on the back of her shoulder. Another wrapped around her chest, and grabbed, and nails bit, deeply - her lips twisted and she shouted through her bared teeth, but at this point, hell, it ripping into her wasn’t unwelcome, either; she snapped her eyes shut once again and tried to hold the blindingness of the feeling bright in her mind and use it to feed the rise of heat, breath erratically trying to find a pace in and out and scraping through her nose, knees half-consciously sliding further apart in the slush and against the creature’s bracing with a silent bid for it to just give her what she actually needed, here.

A shuddering as she could sense it slip itself inside her just a trace deeper.

Space she didn’t know she had, really.

Something dropping into her stomach like a smooth stone falling into a low, dark well. Makin’ you shudder at the length of the fall as you find that the water’s only just high enough that you can see the tiniest, most spiderweb-thin flashes of silver ripples in the pitch, pitch black.

...What she actually needed, here.

The first time, she hadn’t had the mind to.

But the second time that this’d happened, she’d wondered with one hell of a singular kind of horror if Eveline had been the one making them do this. But that wasn’t right. She doubted that the girl knew what any of this was. (Certainly hoped she didn’t, at that.) Let alone why this’d be a way to get at her - mess with her head.

Plus, Zoe no longer felt like her head was bein’ messed with by this.

Sick as it was, it was making due, like just about every other action she had to take these years.

...At the highest pressure point of a swell of  _ heat  _ enveloping her brain, some of it became anger became a bitter, spitting pride that she hadn’t been broken even reduced to this - a hiss, a bite of her lip - reduced to fucking monsters like a dog in the mud out by some run-down --

… - a sudden turning of a valve with another full stuffing of what the thing was made of back into her, and a blooming, releasing that heat. Surrounding and flooding her system with a burn.

Her back arched slow - long, and steady, and deep - as she turned her head up, jaws parting and eyes full of searing, searing blank, a hiss of breath opening up into an uneven, shuddering-and-breaking cry that reminded her more of the cry of an eave in a wind than of her own voice.

And she snuffed it out with a sniff as, once again, she shut her eyes. Grit her teeth. Focused on maintaining the bright in her vision as long as she damn well could.

As she let her cheek press into the dirt so she could tuck her head in close to herself and waited out as the creature continued to press and pull at her from the inside out.

It was with a telltale  _ noise  _ \- a snarl that sounded somehow like it was sloshing both out and in at once - and increased heaviness to a final movement that it announced that it, too, was finished.

She drew out a slow, slow exhale.

Released the steam, and with it, as the cycle went, went the defiance. She twitched around it, involuntarily, as it drew itself out of her. Once in the front. Once in the back.

Its grip on her released. It crawled off of her. Turned, and scampered into the courtyard as if nothing had happened.

She pushed herself up, ever so slightly - cursory twitch of a flinch in her face on the movement bringin’ attention back to the throbbing heat in her chest. Turned and looked at it around herself, eyes heavy, with a kind of hungover, suspended-animation bleariness.

Noticing with a likewise dull, joyless kind of humor the shape hangin’ between its legs. It had been the fourth time, maybe, that she had actually been able to manage a baffled little shriek of laughter at noticing that they pulled away with that - their little mold dildos, before their shapes re-congealed to their normal within about ten minutes. Now the humor was still there, she supposed, but in the manner of mundane human stupidity. It was funny in the way blatant everyday hypocrisy was funny.

Just another part of  _ why am I even doing this. _

That  _ swelled  _ back up with  _ weariness _ as she heard grass rustling and substances slopping again - slowly shutting her eyes, a wave of hot-and-cold pouring down her brow, and reopening them to find another crawler had come up behind her.

Its body rose and fall with something like breath where it suspended itself between its four long legs. Still but for that and one jerking tilt of its head, and then another.

Like it was asking for permission.

...And the weary question was met by the rise-up of something more acute, in the span of two breaths.

She tugged something that was like a half-smile, but wasn’t. Scoffed something that sounded like a laugh, but wasn’t.

A toss of her head, then a nod of it back.

_ Get up. _

“...What’s that; you been waitin’ for a turn, too?” she asks it, pointlessly, voice wavering and floating between puffs of breath. “Well… this is your chance…!”

_ Because fuck it. _

The creature scrambled up closer.

Zoe shut her eyes once again. 

_ Fuck it… _

A claw on her hip and another on her calf as it began to climb onto her.

Zoe bit her lip. Pushed a hot breath out -  _ twitching  _ again.

_ Fuck it… _

* * *

It was with limbs both stiff and vibrating that Zoe got up and headed back to the trailer to clean herself up when they were done, stance lopsided and zombie-like.

There wasn’t much to do.

It was easy to simply go through the motions of heading to the toilet, mopping up any excess sludge those things left behind where it seeped from between thighs webbed with black veins, whenever any of these encounters concluded.

She felt that that wasn’t a good sign. Tried to reassure herself that she still had her mind, and that like the creatures’ sculpting themselves, it cleared up after about ten minutes.

Tried to reassure herself.

Her breast was shredded, split by four deep red-and-white gashes, and more claws on hands and feet and stones in the mud had left cuts on her thighs and her back and her shoulders and her face, but there weren’t nothing to do but wait for that, either. She healed, like she’d seen Mom and Dad and Lucas do after squabbles with captives who’d gotten ahold of something to stab or strike with, or after altercations with each other. This would clear up in ‘bout  _ thirty  _ minutes, she estimated.

The rest was changing her clothes and wiping off the blood and dirt and grass and leaves and trying to sleep, maybe, all while being glad that she didn’t have a damn mirror.

Didn’t have to see the damage that should really hurt more than it did, feel as grotesque as she knew that it was. Didn’t have to see herself looking all  _ feral  _ caked in mud and covered in bloodstains and the leaving of things that, wherever each one had come from, weren’t… goddamn  _ human  _ anymore. With these ones, not even shaped like it.

Didn’t have to get those reminders that she’d got creeping into any of the house bathrooms to hide things that she’d changed, just like the others had.

Her hair had gone pale - was almost an old-woman dust-gray now. Her eyes and cheeks had sunken in. She detected an undertone of green to her skin.

This would not clear up with a brief rest, she was well aware. Hoped that it would clear up, eventually.

Work on that was to wait.

She did manage to sleep. When she woke up, it was still night, but the pain had effectively faded. She lifted her shirt - four cuts that look like they could’ve been left by a cat. More than good enough. She got up, prepared to set her mind to race, before noticing that it was colder than it should be, and that the air was moving.

She turned to the window, which was open a crack. An object sat on the windowsill, and on the glass was a yellow sticky note.

Her brow knit at once, and instead of racing, her mind locked on with a hard snap, feeling the tension in her sternum. What the hell does he want.

She approached; observed, squinting.

The sticky note read:

_ One heck of a show, sis!!! _

_ Don’t worry, I made you a copy! ;) _

Her eyes snapped down as a particularly abrasive kind of heat began to simmer up in her blood. Pool behind her face.

It was a videotape.

The thing resting on the windowsill was a  _ videotape. _

Of a show that  _ sis  _ had put on.

Yet another blinding heat that she tried to hold. Processing it as it  _ seared  _ behind her cheeks and forehead.

Only subtly detecting it as outside of the trailer, creatures all at once began to hiss, and crawl, and gnash their teeth, and scatter.


	2. Side Two

Lucas narrowed his eyes and grinned as he waggled the stick between two bars of the cage.

_Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang._

And the thing in the corner lifted its - ‘scuse, _her_ head.

Stared at him with solidly milky eyes. Dry. Lumpy. As if they’d been shoddily carved out of chalk.

And his, bright and squirrely, popped wide-open. He lifted his hand and twiddled his fingers, giving the lady a half-flutey and half-stage-whispered _“Hey…!”_

All friendly-like.

She leaned.

Like a goddamn… Tower of Pisa.

He giggled - shimmied aside a bit, crouched like an upright side-hopping frog; inserted the stick between the bars again. “Hey! Hey!”

_BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!_

...She leaned again. The other way.

“Uunh?” she went - stupidly. Just humanlike under layers and layers of curdling.

Lucas narrowed his eyes and peeled back a glass-cutting grin.

...Heh.

He woulda called her by name by now, to further test her responsiveness, but he couldn’t remember it, other’n that it started with a “C”, probably. Candace, was what he… figured it was. That Travis fella’s girl, either way.

She hadn’t physically changed much, over the past twenty-four hours.

Even just goin’ in, had he not been with her this whole damn past longer-than-that, he wouldn’t have supposed she’d changed mentally at all. After all, the side of her face that weren’t covered by a sheet of mold that had once been her hair looked essentially human, apart from the pallor. Her general size and shape was humanlike enough, too, and he - guessed he might find out, on this front, but he did not detect any o’ the Moldeds’ springiness in her, even if plenty else was different; everything, like her face, sheet-ass-white and caked in angular stones of mold, limbs distorting into rockline formations and hands and feet having melted into fine brushlike tendrils that pooled almost liquid-like.

It said a lot, however, that she wasn’t cold-shouldering him no longer.

Hadn’t tried to curse him out or bargain with him for a couple of days, now. Stopped her cryin’ ‘n whimperin’ yesterday.

And now after bein’ in there to _cook_ longer, well - looked like she’d gone from being quiet and “hiding” in the corner to finally being so nice as to acknowledge his presence again.

He crunched a dusty-dry little laugh, shimmying aside further. The keys dangling from his hands jingled; he gave the ring one clumsy spin around his forefinger.

“...Bein’ all alone in there finally gettin’ to ya, huh…?”

Hoarse, just above a whisper, if vividly-tinged.

 _“Candace”_ stood up high on her knees, slack-jawed, leaning again till her shoulder touched the bars. Lucas flicked a saucer-eyed look on ‘er - up, and down, and up, and he was ambiently annoyed that he couldn’t make out her nipples any longer, squinting and twisted his mouth in a silent “eh”, before the cage door groaned open.

He shuffled backward.

“Now - how’s about we take you for a test run…”

 _...Heh_ , indeed.

He grinned again, as she took one heavy, tipping step forward on a knee, body leaning forward. Again. Again.

She approached the cage door, and he frog-hopped backwards, his brow lifting and his eyes goin’ huge again.

He locked in a toothy grin. Held his key hand out and beckoned. “ _Yeahhhhhh, atta girl!_ ” he chirped, fruitily, slicked with oil, high-singing. “ _C’moooon_ , time to come on out and stretch yer _legs_ , Candace…!”

With one more swing, the chick stopped in the doorway of the cage.

He mouthed a _“huh?”_ and tilted his head in a weave.

...She shook hers, a low-swinging side-to-side slow-ass sway.

...He knit his brow and scrunched his nose, starin’ at her like what the fuck before -

...Pff - his face buckled further and he sizzled out a long scoff.

“ _Fiiiiiiiine_ .” Undercurrent of a simultaneous whine and rumble. “ _Not_ -Candace. How ‘bout you just come out and say hello -- ?”

...He arched a brow at her - deliberately. A couple more quick key-jingling beckons.

...She stared at him a second. Swayin’ like a buoy in a wind.

... And then she began shuffling fast. All his limbs seized backward outta reflex, a voice in his head squeakin’ “oop!”, and then -

...Pffffshhhyyyyeaahhhhh, god, she fuckin’ toppled in front of him -- …!

His grin bit and twisted bright; he squawked two high-rising laughs…!

“Watch yourself, there!” he singsonged. “Gotta get’cher land legs back…!”

She picked herself up on those two sorta-hands of hers. Looked up at ‘im from under that rotten curtain of hair that wasn’t hair.

...Right-between his knees.

A black-red rumbling shadow came over his mind as his grin re-focused narrow.

His hands came down to the front of his pants.

A softly-scraping _“heh”_. “...Bet you been feelin’ mighty lonely, all cooped up in there with nobody but me passin’ by since you and your man got separated, ain’t ya…?”

He barely inflected it as a question, because it wasn’t the point. All throughout it, somethin’ bobbed in his throat low and hearty.

His button popped down his zipper came. His fingers tugged at cloth.

Not-Candace didn’t look. She stared at him blankly. Gaze eventually, eventually, bit-at-a-time drifted off to… the wall, somewhere.

And then she nodded, once, clumsy and heavy.

The bridge of Lucas’s nose scrunched again.

Well, ain’t that convenient…!

He sipped a hot ‘n rough breath in through his nose, fishing his cock through the opening in the front of his boxers. “We-helllll, then…” Increasingly dense, gusty. Another sniff. Removing one hand from himself to the back of her head - a bright sharpness in his blood gradually spiking. He swallowed - throat unstuck to give way to - “ -- how’s about you pretend I’m good ol’ Trav and get me warmed up to take _care_ of that…”

“Traaaaaaav,” he thought he heard her whine, distantly.

He kept his grin bitten tight - determinedly - watching her.

Subtle _shifts in the shadows of the shapes of the surface_ of her eyes indicated to ‘im that she was lookin’ down at what he was offering. He gave a quick ‘n small shake of his hips to sell the point before she looked back up at him.

...He gawked as she opened her mouth, and leaned forward. Shuddered as the tip of his cock lay against a dry tongue and heard a piercing-ass scream of delight rising in the back of his brain as her lips began to seal and faintly squeeze -- …!

He let his head _fall_ back - face up to blue-fluorescent lights and puffing out an _“_ **_awwww_ ** _-a-heh-heh-_ **_heh_ ** _\-- …!”_ of triumph and rising delight because _god, he had been fuckin’ waiting for this…! Holy shit it was actually going to happen…!_

...And, in another black-red swelter, this wasn’t even the main event, he thought.

Tongue pokin’ just barely between lips twisted half-effortlessly into a smirk. He hissed an inhale through his nose as he pulled out just a teeny bit and then “mmh”-ed as he pressed his hips against the girl’s face. Shut his eyes wincingly as he continued.

Her lips began to tighten - he heard a tiny snap of her mouth around him, and his lips snapped free of each other at a seam to show a cut of his teeth.

 _“Yeah,”_ he hissed through ‘em - experimentally pressing harder. Pulling further. Putting a hand on her cheek - holding her firm for another controlled variable, so to speak. When his hips met her face again, he _ground_.

Not a swallow or a gag or a breath.

More tightening.

He let out a taut, rough _“ahhh -- “_ outta something that was practically fascination - tipping back his head again, holding on tighter, pulling out further to feel goddamn more of that, yeah, on more of him - slamming back in for more faster, hitting her face with a sound and then grinding _harder…!_

His voice pitched, unbidden, into a tight little keen whimper in the back of his head as, again, her mouth tightened and tightened -- 

...And then the whimper opened into a long, shuddering inward _gaaaaaasp_ as heat positively fucking exploded between them.

His system trembled.

It was _too_ hot. He hadn’t been _there_ yet. It was too abrasive a kind of heat through its faint pulsing.

He was still moving his hips, but he felt nothing.

He looked down, and apart from that feeling, all there was between him ‘n Not-Candace was dark blood.

Covering him.

Covering her face, as she turned her eyes back up to him, some sort of lump in her still-open mouth.

In it, her teeth were long and red.

White-hot-blue flares flickered up into his mind as he locked his teeth and _screeched_ , risingly, shoving her away and stumbling _back, back, back back back_ _in kicks and flails of his arms_ , a couple each directed at her, till his back hit the edge of a table.

She crawled toward him - an arm forward. An arm forward. Still staring dumbly, and his face warped and he screeched again and kicked and kicked again and his eyes and head blazed and _how dare you how dare you HOW FUCKING DARE YOU -- !_

Not-Candace came close enough that he actually lanced a kick that caught her square in the face with a crack, sent her pausing and careening backward in place with the recoil.

He forced himself to use a shot of adrenaline to twist a smile. Snicker the most mosquito-pinched spiteful of snickers.

And found it echoed, feminine and ghostly-like, too low to be him or Evie, somewhere.

Another scream in his head: _enjoying the show,_ **_bitch?!_ ** The voice weren’t hard to recognize.

He snapped his head to the door in the corner, still kickin’, eyes lookin’ a dagger. Found it open. Found exactly who he fuckin’ well expected to be standing there.

But then he noticed something.

And as it dawned -- he stared onward, still kicking like a critter on the end of a snare, jaw yawning wide open as the heat of aggression began to sink into something murkier. Something curdling. Something that, likewise, began to yawn and stretch like a growing “no” in between and behind his ribs.

Standing in the doorway, there was Zoe. Her smile was weary; her eyes spitefully resigned.

A thin sheet of pale mold sparkled on her skin.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then the father smiled at the agent and answered, "The Aristocrats."
> 
> Titled after [a Glass Animals song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7R6SITSeiRo).


End file.
